


The Underground People

by kathkin



Series: Vampire Verse [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Bloodplay, F/F, Urban Fantasy, Vampires, fantasy prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freya and Elena met in the 80s at Glastonbury, or possibly at some other festival, or maybe just in a pub. Elena proceeded to dip in and out of Freya's life for the next three decades. Chaos and ultimately romance ensues. Also they're both vampires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Underground People

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel/Perspective flip of [_Vampire and Werewolves and Flatshares, Oh My!_ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/872787)Urban fantasy AU, dramedy. Beta'd by [](http://fitz-y.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://fitz-y.dreamwidth.org/)**fitz_y**. Having read the original fic is not required but will definitely help.  
> 

It was 1982 – or maybe it was 1983, Freya wasn’t sure, but she was sure it wasn’t 1984, she’d definitely remember if it were 1984 because it was rather an Orwellian year – and they were at Glastonbury. Or she thought it had been Glastonbury, but it might have been some other festival, or even just at a bar or a party – it didn’t really matter, it was loud and hot and full of people, bodies all pressed together. Freya remembered that she’d been looking for Merlin, on her way back from the bar with two beers clutched in one hand (if there’d been a bar, she might just have swiped them out of someone’s cooler), and when she found him, he was in the midst of a passionate embrace with someone large and muscley and bearded.

She’d stopped and smiled a little, toying with her hair, because she couldn’t help but think it was quite sweet, but then after a moment or two a loud, posh voice had sounded in her ear.

“Oh, that’s _disgusting_ ,” said the voice. Freya turned around, and saw a blond vampire, her hair a mess – mud on her jeans, yes, she’d been covered in mud, so maybe it had been at a festival – glowering in Merlin’s general direction. “I mean – that’s just _wrong_.” She shuddered all over, exaggerated, and Freya was filled with a shy, reserved sort of righteous indignation.

“Um, that’s my friend, _actually_ ,” she said.

“Well, _you_ should keep better company,” said the blond.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Freya.

“I mean,” the blond went on, as if Freya hadn’t spoken. “Werewolves. _Ugh_.”

“Excuse me!” said Freya. “Merlin’s not a werewolf!”

“No, but the bloke with the beard is,” said the blond, pointing – and yes, yes he was. The scent of it had been masked by the smell of several hundred people’s worth of sweat and perfume, not to mention his own copious amounts of aftershave, but now that she was looking for it – yes. Werewolf. Ah.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, not. Oh, that _is_ disgusting. I don’t think he knows…”

“Go tell him, then,” said the blond. “And make it snappy, I think I’m going to be sick if they keep on much longer.”

Freya took a fortifying swig of her beer, then edged through the crowd and tried to get Merlin’s attention. Just saying his name didn’t do any good, what with all the noise and the music, so she tried tapping him on the shoulder, reaching in tentatively between various limbs, and even then it took a moment or two for him to notice. He made a disgruntled sound into the werewolf’s mouth and ignored her until her third attempt.

“Wha’?” he said, tearing himself away, mouth all wet, still entangled with the werewolf. And. _Ew_.

“Can I talk to you?” she said, grabbing him by the arm.

“In the middle of something.” He turned away. The werewolf chuckled.

“No, _now_ ,” said Freya, dragging him backwards, which was always easy when he was drunk; he got all loose-limbed and wobbly.

“I’ll be right back!” Merlin yelled at the werewolf, gesticulating with his free hand. Freya released him once they were a safe distance away. He rubbed at his arm and scowled. “You have sharp fingers.”

“Um, alright,” said Freya. “You _do_ know that was a werewolf, don’t you?”

“What werewolf what?” said Merlin, still rubbing his arm.

“That.” Freya pointed. “That man over there. The man you were just sucking the face off. _That_.”

Comprehension began to dawn on Merlin’s face. “Shut up,” he said. “I think I’d know if I’d been snogging a werewolf, _Freya_.”

“Well, you’d think,” said Freya.

Merlin’s hand slowed on his arm, and he frowned, then sniffed at himself, at his damp t-shirt. “Oh,” he said. “Oh! _Oh._ ” He sniffed at himself again, then clapped his hands to his face. “I think I’m going to throw up.” He dashed away in the direction of the toilets (possibly portaloos), and Freya watched him go, holding the spare beer forlornly.

The werewolf sidled over. “Where’s he off to in such a hurry?”

“Oh, um,” said Freya, edging away. “He’s just. Very drunk. Probably throwing up. Right now. It’s just as well, he might have thrown up all over you if you’d kept at that much longer. He’s done it before.” The werewolf pulled a face and vanished into the crowd.

“Well,” said the blond’s voice into Freya’s left ear. “I’m glad _that’s_ over with.”

“Thanks for, you know, pointing it out,” said Freya.

“Oh, think nothing of it,” said the blond. “I’m Elena.” She held out a hand – surprisingly warm, Freya noticed, with a twinge of suspicion.

“Freya,” she said, biting her lip carefully.

“Fancy getting something to eat?” said Elena. “I’ve had my eye on _that_ one all evening.” She pointed at a willowy, auburn girl swaying to the music, skirt swirling around her legs – and yes, she’d been pretty, Freya remembered, very pretty, and when Elena went on to say, “We can share her if you like,” for a moment, for the first time in years – decades, even – she’d actually been tempted.

“Oh, no thank you,” she said. “I’m, um, not very hungry. I ate earlier.”

“Suit yourself,” said Elena. “Freya, was it? I’ll see you around, shall I?” She darted off, hair a messy halo around her head.

Merlin came back a moment later, wiping his mouth. He took the extra beer from Freya gratefully, took a few mouthfuls, then said, “Who was that you were talking to?”

“Oh, no one,” said Freya. “Just some girl.”

“She’s pretty,” said Merlin.

“She’s a –” Freya started to say, but she was interrupted by a sudden torrent of drunk Will, draping himself over both of them at once, arm slung over each set of shoulders.

“You _guys_ ,” he said, “you guys! I just saw a wood nymph, right, with the most _massive_ tits I ever saw – seriously, like –” he cupped a hand over each of their chests, “you have to see, you _guys_ , it’s fucking amazing, best fucking thing I’ve seen all fucking night, you _guys_ –”

 

–

 

She actually did see Elena ‘around’, a little to her surprise. She had a tendency to show up in odd places, in pubs and clubs and tiny bars around London, and once in Birmingham, and once even in Paris, and each time she greeted Freya energetically, all hugs and smiles. She was usually drunk, which probably explained it, and she usually she had a boyfriend with her, seemingly a different one every time.

It was still, though, rather a shock to have Elena show up outside her front door one night, looking somewhat frantic and missing one boot. Freya couldn’t quite remember how Elena had even known where she lived, if there’d been detective work involved or if it were just that Freya had mentioned it, just the street, perhaps, and Elena had smelled her out from there. It was 1986, she remembered that for certain.

“Freya, you have to help me!” Elena said.

“What’s wrong?” said Freya, holding onto the door firmly. It was a pity Elena didn’t need an invite. Stupid rules never applied when it would actually be useful.

“I accidentally killed a Swedish diplomat and now the King of Sweden is sending vampire hunters after me!” said Elena, and Freya was so confused by that statement that she let Elena in without meaning to.

She stood in the middle of Freya’s shabby little living room, hopping about in her one boot and trying to peer around the edges of the brown paper that covered the windowpanes.

“What do you mean you _accidentally_ killed a diplomat?” said Freya.

“Well, I didn’t _know_ he was a diplomat!” said Elena. “I mean, he said he was, but I thought he was making it up, you know? Like the time some bloke told me he was an astronaut and I thought I’d drunk blood that had been to space, but then it turned out he was actually a greengrocer. I was so disappointed! Honestly, some people…”

Yes, _some people_. “So, um, what are you doing here?”

“Just lying low,” said Elena. “You don’t mind, do you? But Pellinor broke up with me when I told him about the vampire hunters and now he won’t let me back in the crypt. And he’s stolen all my clothes! Well, not _stolen_ , I suppose, but he won’t let me in to get them. This is all I have!” She gestured to herself. “Could I possibly borrow a shoe?”

Freya opened her mouth to say yes, of course Elena could have one of her shoes, because she was terribly obliging like that, but then the front door banged open and Merlin rushed in.

“Freya, help!” he wailed. “Gaius is possessed by the ghost of Isaac Newton and now he won’t stop throwing things down the stairs to prove the gravity exists!” He broke off, gaze falling on Elena. “Oh, who’s your friend?”

“This is Elena,” said Freya, at the same time as Elena said,

“That sounds much more fun than my little problem! How’d he manage to get possessed?”

“He wanted to try having a séance,” said Merlin. “Freya, never let me let him have a séance again. That’s our new slogan, alright? _Say no to séances_.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Oh god, I should get back there before he starts breaking stuff.”

“I’d have thought Isaac Newton’s ghost would be more intelligent then that,” Freya mused.

“Can we discuss the logistics later?” said Merlin. “All I know is he keeps saying he’s Isaac Newton and he threw a load of apples at my head.”

“That story is _definitely_ apocryphal,” said Freya.

“Freya!” Merlin yelped. “Please, I need help!”

“Damn right you do!” said Elena. “Come on, Freya, the man needs your help. Now let’s go to his house and help him! And also hide.”

“Hide from what?” said Merlin.

“We can discuss that later,” said Elena, hurrying out the door. “Come along, now! I got possessed once, did you know?”

 

–

 

They’d been too late to prevent breakages – Freya remembered the broken china spread across the floor of Merlin’s little hallway, shards crunching underfoot, and the appalled sound Merlin had made at the sight.

“That’s mum’s crockery!” he said, aghast. He shouted up the stairs. “ _Gaius!_ How could you? That was mum’s!”

Gaius – or Isaac Newton, apparently – shouted back something incoherent along the lines of _show them, show them all_ , and a gentle rain of pillows and blankets tumbled down the stairs.

“Um, sorry about the crockery,” said Freya.

“It’s alright, it’s not the good stuff,” said Merlin. “We keep that in the attic so he probably hasn’t found it yet. And _help_!” He flailed a little. “I don’t know what to do. This is even worse than the experimental radio! I tried to convince him to get back into the ouija board but he wouldn’t do it!” A mug thunked into the front door. Elena stifled a laugh, then composed herself.

“I have a friend who’s a witch,” she said, adjusting her jacket. “Her name’s Enmyria. She might be able to help!”

“A witch?” said Merlin, suddenly hopeful. His ears had been flushed pink.

“Oh, yes!” said Elena. “She’s also a gymnast. Part time. I can call her, d’you have a phone?”

“Yes!” cried Merlin. “Yes, a phone! That is a thing. That we have.” He rooted through the clutter of books and dead pot plants and discarded test tubes that covered most of the surfaces in the house until he found a phone cable and began to follow it back to its source. “Don’t worry, Gaius! We’re going to fetch someone to help you!”

“I’m Isaac Newton, whippersnapper!” Gaius hollered back.

 

–

 

Once Enmyria had sashayed in and sent Isaac Newton’s soul back to… wherever it had come from, she lingered for altogether too long, packing up her things and chatting to Elena. Freya had wished she would leave, but she couldn’t say anything, because it wasn’t her house and it would be awfully rude, since Enmyria had helped Gaius. So Enmyria stayed and talked and laughed with Elena, catching up, all tight trousers and flirty smiles.

When she had _finally_ left, Merlin slumped against the inside of the front door with a sigh of relief, and said, “I need a drink.”

He fetched a bag of blood out of the fridge while Gaius pottered around peeling half-melted candles off various surfaces and Freya and Elena stood about awkwardly.

“Really, I don’t know what all the fuss was about,” Gaius was saying. “It was a very enlightening experience, I don’t regret one moment of it.”

“Well said!” said Elena. “I, for one, envy you.”

“You do know all you did was throw our stuff around, right?” said Merlin. He poured his blood into a mug without even bothering to heat it up, then offered the bag to Freya and Elena. Freya shook her head, and Elena pulled a face.

Merlin sipped his blood. Gaius left the room with an armful of candles.

“So I’ve been thinking,” said Elena to Freya. “that I should hide at your house for a few days. You know, lay low.”

“Hide from who?” said Merlin, who seemed to have calmed considerably. Freya shifted awkwardly as Elena answered.

“Oh, the Swedish vampire hunters,” she said. “They’ve been after me since Tuesday.” Merlin looked very confused.

“She killed a Swedish diplomat,” Freya offered. Merlin’s eyes widened.

“Just a little one,” said Elena. She smirked. Freya winced. “So, can I stay with you?”  
“Oh!” said Freya. Merlin fixed her with a hard stare and shook his head. “Oh. Um. Of course, that would be lovely.” Merlin shook his head again. “I mean –”

 _Tell her!_ Merlin mouthed. Freya flailed a little, gesturing for him to be quiet. Elena looked from one to the other, puzzled. “What’s wrong?” she said.

Merlin cleared his throat, and inclined his head, urging Freya to say something, then, when she kept quiet, he said, “Elena, Freya would prefer if you _didn’t_ stay in her house.”

“Merlin!” Freya whined.

“What? Why?” asked Elena.

“I don’t mind –” Freya began. Merlin mouthed _tell her!_ again, more forcefully this time.

“What’s the problem?” said Elena, hands on hips. She’d been clutching her boot in one hand.

“It’s just,” said Freya. “Well,” said Freya. “You and I – we have different – interests.”  
Comprehension dawned on Elena’s face, and she smiled. “Oh, is this about you being a lesbian?” she said. “Because I’m fine with that!”

“No, it’s not that.” Freya cringed again. “It’s just that – well – it’s not that at all, it’s –”

“It’s the killing people,” said Merlin, sipping his blood, altogether too nonchalant.

“Merlin, stop that!” Freya snapped.

“What?” said Elena at the same time.

“We’re not,” said Merlin, “alright with that. Sorry.”

Elena’s gaze gaze flicked from Freya to Merlin to the mug in Merlin’s hands. Silence fell over the room like an awkward, wrinkled bedsheet. Gaius’s special clock ticked and bleeped and jingled one of its many glowing bells.

Gaius himself wandered back in, the cord of his dressing gown trailing, and started to re-set his tea-making machine, twisting the little dials and cogs carefully, oblivious to the mire of awkwardness he had just walked into.

“So you’re, what, vegetarians?” said Elena eventually, toying with her boot.

“Yes,” said Freya, desperate to end the conversation, at the same time as Merlin said,

“Well, not really.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Elena. “I mean, you don’t exactly get vegetable blood, do you?” She attempted a laugh.

“I’m working on it!” said Gaius brightly. He wandered away again in search of his glasses. Merlin waited until he was halfway down the passage, then hurriedly whispered,

“Do _not_ drink the vegetable blood,” and pulled his most appalled face.

Elena and Freya both smothered laughs as Gaius came back in and blinked at them from behind his little spectacles.

“Did I miss something funny?” he said.

 

–

 

 

The next evening, Freya was woken by a strong smell of bacon. She slipped out of bed, nightgown slipping down her shoulders, and followed it to the kitchen, puzzled.  
Elena was standing over the stove, wearing Freya’s slippers and Freya’s apron and cooking Freya’s bacon. Freya let out a yelp and adjusted her nightgown frantically – it was barely knee length and she was very conscious that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

“Oh, hello, sleeping beauty!” said Elena brightly.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Freya hissed.

“Making breakfast!” Elena flipped the bacon. It sizzled. Freya stumbled over and turned off the gas. This did little to dissuade Elena. She started serving the bacon instead.

“In my house,” said Freya. “What are you doing _in my house_?”

“Hiding!” said Elena. “Vampire hunters, remember?”

“I said you couldn’t hide here!” said Freya desperately. “Remember?”

“No, _Merlin_ said I couldn’t hide here,” said Elena. “You were quite vague on the subject, so I decided to err on the side of positivity.”

“We said you couldn’t hide here because you _kill people_ ,” said Freya. “How did you miss that?” Elena offered her a plate of bacon and eggs. Freya folded her arms and shook her head. “No! Stop that! I’m trying to be firm!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve come up with a compromise,” said Elena. “As long as I’m staying with you, I won’t eat anyone! It’ll help keep the vampire hunters off my trail, so everyone wins. How about that?”

Freya wavered. It wasn’t a bad compromise, all things considered. She rather wanted to say yes, because she was eternally polite and Elena was actually quite fun to have around, if you were willing to look past the part where she killed people. “No,” she said. “I’m putting my foot down. You have to leave.”

“Alright, _fine_ ,” said Elena. “I’ll go. After breakfast.” She took off Freya’s apron and sat down at the kitchen table.

 

–

 

Elena did not leave after breakfast. Two weeks later, she was still in Freya’s house, her toothbrush was in the bathroom, and she’d bought six new pairs of shoes and lined them all up in the hallway. Freya lived alone. She much preferred living alone. Her nerves were getting worn to shreds. It was bad enough when Will and Merlin turned up to spend time with her unannounced – Merlin, at least, had the excuse of needing time away from Gaius’ experiments, but Will would just wander in as if he owned the place, drink blood out of her fridge, and insist on putting on the football all afternoon.

“Evening,” he said one night a fortnight after Elena had begun hiding out. He toed off his trainers, kicked them on top of Elena’s growing pile of shoes, and sauntered into the living room to dump the beers he’d brought on the coffee table.

“Hello, Will,” said Freya. Will caught side of Elena, draped across the sofa with her hair wrapped up in a towel, and said,

“Who’s the fit girl?”

Elena looked up from her magazine and smiled. “Oh, hi.”

“Elena, this is Will, he’s a friend of mine,” said Freya. “Will, this is Elena. She kills people.”

“Not at the moment, _thank_ you,” said Elena.

“Oh, you going on the wagon?” said Will.

“Only temporarily,” Elena assured him.

“Cool, good for you.” Will ambled off to the kitchen, and Freya heard the fridge opening.

“Don’t take the deer blood, Will!” she called. “It’s expensive.”

“Piss off,” he shouted back.

Freya perched on the edge of a faded armchair that had come with the house.  
“So how does being on the wagon work, anyway?” said Elena.

Perhaps Freya had shown Elena her identity bracelet as part of her explanation, but when she thought about it the program hadn’t started up until ’89 so she’d probably been much more vague than that.

Elena had made interested but non-committal sounds until Will came back through with a mug of warmed up blood – pig’s blood, thankfully, Freya could tell from the smell – and put the television on.

“Can’t you watch that at home?” said Freya as he flicked through the channels to the footie.

“Your TV has a bigger screen,” he said, settling himself at the other end of the sofa from Elena. He nodded at her politely. “Alright,” he said.

Elena peered over her magazine. “Everton and Liverpool?” she said. Will grunted. Elena put down her magazine. “Pass me a beer, would you?”

–

 

Elena and Will seemed to get on like a house on fire, which is to say, it displeased Freya greatly, because she desperately wanted Elena to leave as soon as possible, and having Will enjoy her company as well as the Swedish vampire hunters still lurking about only made things more awkward.

Thankfully – and Freya felt awful for being so pleased, she really did – Elena turned up early one morning with blood on her mouth and the smell of some poor human all over her, and for all she swore blind that she _hadn’t_ , that she’d just been nibbling, just _playing_ , she had packed up all her shoes and left before sunrise.

 

–

 

The next time Freya saw Elena, it was 1991, the program was new and still called the Supernatural Program rather than the SPRV-doubleW (Society for the Protection and Rehabilitation of Vampires and also Werewolves and Whatnot), Merlin had just started dating Galahad and was sickeningly sweet about it, and Freya was nearing her hundredth birthday.

It was quite daunting, entering triple figures. Her friends were all younger than her – Merlin was only in his sixties, his sisters both still alive and living somewhere in Cornwall, and Will was barely fifty; they didn’t seem to have quite registered just what immortality meant for them yet. Freya was going to be a hundred years old. Will and Merlin were a little in awe, but Morgause and Aredian and all the older vampires just sighed and shook their heads and looked at her like she was still a child.

She wasn’t sure how to celebrate. It felt like an occasion that warranted a proper party, but she didn’t like being the centre of attention, so they ended up just going out for drinks in the Coffin like usual, except Merlin spent most of the night snogging Galahad in the corner of the booth, which put a damper on things (almost literally – Galahad tended to drool).

After what had to be at least half an hour of continuous snogging, Merlin pulled away from Galahad, wiped his mouth, and nodded at the bar. “Isn’t that whatsername?”

“Whatsername?” said Freya.

“You know,” said Merlin as Galahad nuzzled at his neck. “Your friend. Elena.”

Freya twisted round to look. It was indeed Elena, standing by the bar with her arm around the waist of the bloke next to her, hair doing its best to escape from the bun she had forced it into.

“Yes,” said Freya. “I suppose it is.”

“You should say hello,” said Merlin. Galahad giggled as if something were funny, and kissed Merlin again.

Freya had just enough time to resolve _not_ to say hello before Elena spotted her and set upon her with a cry of, “Freya! Hello again! It’s me!”

“Hello, Elena,” said Freya. Elena hurried over, dragging her boyfriend after her.

“How’ve you been?” she said, then, before Freya could answer. “This is Owain!”

Owain, now that Freya paid attention, was Welsh, and _human_. He nodded at her politely.

“Owain, this is Freya,” said Elena. “I told you about Freya, didn’t I? And her friends Will and Merlin and – whoever that is.”

“Alright, mate,” said Owain, offering his hand to Will.

“Alright,” said Will, shaking it.

“Why don’t you go and get us some drinks, love?” said Elena, kissing Owain. “Don’t worry, they don’t just serve blood here.”

Once Owain was gone, she drew up a chair and sat down beside Freya. “So, how are you? It’s been ages! Why’s it been so long?”

“Um,” said Freya, then, in one breath, “You killed someone while you were staying with me after you promised not to.”

“Oh yes, that,” said Elena. She toyed with the stray strands of her hair, then turned to Will. “So how are you? You well? You see the match last night?”

“Yeah,” Will grunted. “Good. We’re celebrating, actually.”

“Celebrating what?” said Elena.

“Freya’s birthday,” said Will. “She’s a hundred today.”

“Oh, congratulations!” said Elena. “I’ll have to buy you a drink later.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to do that,” said Freya. She twisted her hands together on the tabletop. Elena caught sight of her identity bracelet, and reached for it, running her fingers over the silver links.

“Oh, that’s so pretty!” she said.

“It’s an identity bracelet,” said Freya. “For the program.”

“I heard about that,” said Elena. “I thought of you. You know. Because I knew you’d be opting in.”

“You’re not, then?” Will sounded only mildly interested. “You should. You get free blood!”

“Really?” said Elena. “What kind? Human?”

“Nah, just slaughterhouse stuff,” said Will. “But still. Free.” He lit a cigarette and nodded at the bar. “Your friend okay over there on his own?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” said Elena.

“You sure?” said Will.

“He’s a big boy, he can handle himself,” said Elena.

“No, seriously.” Will gestured at the bar with his cigarette. “Human on his own in a vampire bar. That doesn’t tend to end well.”

“Stop panicking,” said Elena. She rolled her eyes and smiled at Freya, as if to say, _what an idiot_.

“I’m not panicking,” said Will. He leaned back against the worn leather of the booth, eyes still fixed on the bar.

A moment later, there was clatter of stools falling over and a Welsh-accented yell. Merlin and Galahad broke apart, blinking, and Merlin said, “oh, shit!” the moment his gaze fell on the bar.

Elena and Freya turned to look, and Elena leapt to her feet with a cry. “Tristan!” she said, rushing to the bar. “Tristan, no! He’s with me, Tristan! He’s with me!”

Freya waited for a moment, then followed after her, because Tristan was huge and hulking and old and it would probably take more than just Elena to force him off poor Owain. Merlin was just behind her, scrambling over the table, then Galahad. Will stayed where he was, slouched in the booth.

“Have fun with that!” he shouted after them.

 

–

 

A few hours later, in the backroom of the pub, the troll barman had laid Owain out on one of the sofas and left them alone with an angry grunt.

“What the hell were you _thinking_?” Merlin had shouted at Elena.

“Look, just calm down –” Freya tried to say.

“How is this my fault?” said Elena. “Go shout at Tristan, he’s the one who did the biting. I stopped him!”

“You shouldn’t have brought him here!” said Merlin. “You shouldn’t have – why were you even _dating_ him? He’s human!”

“I’m branching out,” said Elena.

“Well, you got him killed,” said Merlin. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Merlin, really –” said Freya.

“He’s not dead!” Elena protested.

“As good as,” Merlin said.

“He’ll wake up in a bit,” said Elena. “He might even be better for it, did you think about that?”

Merlin glowered, then took Galahad by the arm. “I’ve had enough of this,” he said. “Come on, we’re going back through to the bar. We need to call the hospital, and we shouldn’t leave Will by himself, he might get into a fight. Some of us actually take care of our friends.” The last was directed at Elena, bitten out between gritted teeth.  
Elena swore at him as he left, then folded her arms, and said, “Well! What a _prick_!”

“He’s right, though.” Freya sat down on the other sofa and stared at Owain’s pale body. Elena didn’t answer. “You shouldn’t have brought him here, and you should have warned him better, and you _definitely_ shouldn’t have left him on his own.” Elena still didn’t answer. “It was really stupid of you.”

Elena _still_ didn’t answer. She ran her hands through her hair, pulled out the band holding it up, all the grips she’d used to pin it in place, let it fall back into unruly tangles, then sank down on the sofa beside Freya, took her head in her hands, and cried.

“I don’t know what I’m doing any more,” she said between sobs. “I don’t even know why I was dating him. I don’t even _like_ him. He’s boring and he’s not even that fit. And you’re right, this is all my fault, and I just – I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Freya edged closer and put her arm around Elena. “We all make mistakes?” she said.

“Yes, well, most of us don’t get our friends killed,” said Elena.

Freya thought back to 1915, to the nurse’s station and the blood on her hands and her uniform, and said, “Yes, well.”

“I’m sorry about before,” said Elena. “I really did mean it, you know. I tried so hard. But then there was this girl –” She sobbed again. Freya hugged her tighter. “You probably don’t want anything to do with me any more, do you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Freya.

“No, you don’t,” said Elena, drawing back and wiping her eyes. “You’re just being polite. You do that.”

Freya blinked, a little taken aback. She hadn’t thought Elena paid that much attention to her behaviour. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise,” said Elena. “You’re right. I’ve been nothing but trouble for you. You can go, I’ll deal with this. There’ll be people here from the hospital soon, they’ll sort it.”

“I’ll stay till they get here,” said Freya. She took Elena’s hand.

 

–

 

Needless to say, Elena and Owain’s relationship did not survive the Tristan incident; how they managed to even be friends years later Freya wasn’t sure. Owain was apparently quite remarkably forgiving.

What was more surprising was that, shortly after the Tristan incident, Elena opted into the program.

It wasn’t that Freya was surprised that Elena had said she was going to opt in, exactly. It had only been a few years since it had started up and she already knew dozens of vampires who’d _said_ they would opt in, just as soon as they were done with one last hunt, or who’d signed all the papers and got their ID bracelet then dropped out after the first few days or been taken into custody for violating the conditions. No, what surprised Freya was that Elena actually did it.

She turned up on Freya’s doorstep one evening, clutching her paperwork and her brand new identity bracelet.

“I don’t quite know what I’m doing,” she said as Freya helped her work the clasp of her ID bracelet – they were so stiff while they were new, and awkward to put on yourself, but once they were on they tended to stay on. “They said I should go off blood altogether for a while. They gave me supplements to take instead. They said it’d be alright for a week or two.”

“I didn’t do that part, but I’ve heard it works,” said Freya. “Are you sure about this?”

“Oh, absolutely!” said Elena. “I just need a little help. That’s all.”

 

–

 

 

“I’m not sure about this,” Elena whined a few days later. Freya pushed her sweaty hair away from her forehead. “No, I am. I hate this. I’ve changed my mind. Untie me.”

“Hush now,” said Freya, adjusting the rope tying Elena to the bed. “It’s for your own good. You’ll thank me later.”

“No, I will not!” said Elena. “You’re a monster. You’re just terrible. You suckered me into this, you know that?”

Her forehead was all cold and clammy. She was probably delirious. She and Merlin had helped Alice through this back when the program had started up, and she’d spent a few days ranting about the rainbow coloured scorpions crawling around the ceiling (although actually, they’d been in Merlin and Gaius’s house, so maybe that hadn’t been a hallucination after all).

“Settle down now, I’ve made you some soup,” said Freya. “I mixed your pills into it so you won’t have to swallow them, see? It’s tomato soup so it looks a bit like blood.” She offered Elena a spoonful.

“You kept _looking_ at me,” Elena went on, “and your eyes are just so _pretty_ and you were all _disappointed_ at me. This is all your fault. I want to cuddle you and bring you flowers!”

Freya paused, dripping hot soup on the bedsheets. “Um,” she said, and offered Elena the spoon again.

Elena’s gaze became a little more focused. She looked at the soup. “Blood?” she said, hopeful.

“No, not for another week or so,” said Freya. “Just soup. It’s nice! I made it for you?”  
“I hate you and wish you’d die.” Elena rolled her head against the pillows. “Please untie me?”

“No,” said Freya. “Eat the soup. It has your supplements in it.” Elena twisted away from the spoon, then again in the opposite direction, and after a while Freya was sitting straddling Elena’s chest, spooning tomato soup into her mouth while she grumbled, trying not to think about how she had a sexy blonde girl stretched out under her (tied up, at her mercy – no, she _definitely_ wasn’t going there), because it had been far too long (not since Isabel, and that had been some time in the eighties – _shit_ , that was just terrible). Elena’s breasts were heaving in her pyjamas, and it was frightfully awkward, it really was.

 

–

 

Elena surpassed all Freya’s expectations. She got weaned off the supplements and onto animal blood, she went to the weekly meetings and chatted happily with the other vampires on the program, she moved out of Freya’s house into a basement flat, and before Freya knew it, she was part of the group, in a peripheral, acquaintance sort of way. She would come and go, like before, except with more ‘come’ and less ‘go’. Freya had never brought up the things she had said whilst delirious. It wasn’t exactly easy to drop in to the conversation.

One evening, Merlin had arrived at the Coffin with a horrified, haunted expression on his face – it had been some time around ’94, though really, it was hard to tell. Gaius’s exploits all tended to blend together after a while.

“What did he do this time, then?” said Will as Merlin sat down, a glass of whisky in each hand.

Merlin downed one of the whiskies before answering. “He bought a skeleton from the medical school,” said Merlin, “and reanimated it, and it started screaming and running around the house, and now it’s hiding somewhere in the cellar and we can’t find it, and – stop _laughing_! It’s not funny!”

“He’s right,” said Freya. “It really isn’t funny.”

“Yes, it is,” said Elena.

“It really is,” said Will. They collapsed into giggles again. Freya included.

Merlin slumped down in his seat, sipping his second whisky. “I can’t take this any more,” he said. “I’m moving out.”

“What?” said Freya. “Are you serious? You’re going to stop living with Gaius?”

“I’m sick to death of this!” Merlin waved his glass around. Whisky dripped onto the table. “I mean it. First thing tomorrow I’m going to go and find my own flat.”

(He did not.)

“Well, if you’re sure,” said Freya. “Poor Gaius, though.”

“Hell with him, he can clean up his own messes.” Merlin downed the rest of his second whisky. “I’m making a resolution. By the end of the month, I’m going to be living somewhere _sane_.”

(He was not.)

“Oh, are we making resolutions?” said Elena. “I have one!”

Merlin raised his empty glass. “Good for you! What’s your resolution?”

“I am through,” said Elena, “with men. Sick of them. They always let me down.”

“You haven’t had a boyfriend since Owain,” said Freya.

“Well, he let me down.” Elena waved a hand vaguely.

“No, he didn’t,” Freya pointed out.

“He broke up with me!” said Elena.

“Yes, because you fucked up and got him turned into a vampire.” Freya winced – that had come out a little caustic – but Elena didn’t seem to mind.

“Details,” said Elena. “It still counts. I’m going to buy a dog instead! I bet a dog won’t ever leave me. Dogs are very loyal. Not like men.”

“Yeah,” said Will. “ _Men._ We’re all pricks!” He sniggered.

“Damn straight!” said Elena. She raised her wineglass. “To resolutions!”

“Fuck this,” said Will. He got up and shambled away.

 

–

 

Freya remembered Will.

It had been some time in the sixties – ’63? ’64? – and she and Merlin and Gaius had been in Birmingham. It hadn’t been that long since Merlin’s mother had died, and they’d gone away for a while, to somewhere new, and somehow a riot had happened around them.

Not that it was their fault. It hadn’t had anything to do with them at all. Just terrible, terribly timing – a vampire had attacked a policeman and a werewolf had changed in the middle of the street and caused chaos and the ghouls in the sewers had started to spread above ground, and all in all, the humans were not happy; they’d lashed out, and the vampires and the werewolves and the nymphs and the trolls and all the people who lurked in alleyways and on rooftops and underground had lashed back.

It had been, Freya thought, the most disastrous holiday of her life.

If there was one thing she had learned about Will, in all the time she’d known him, it was that, if there was any kind of trouble, you could trust him to be right at the centre of it, shouting obscenities with half a brick in his hand.

She’d heard him before she’d seen him. “Fuck you!” he’d been shouting. “Fuck your stupid system! Fucking humans!” Then the sound of glass shattering as he flung his half a brick at the police station.

They rounded the corner, Freya sheltering from the various makeshift missiles flying through the air, arms over her head, Merlin shielding Gaius as best he could.

Will had been standing on top of an upturned car, shouting at the top of his lungs, trying to rally the rioting crowds into overturning the government and starting a new system of glorious equality, completely oblivious to the vampire hunters pouring out of the van just down the road.

Freya kept on hurrying, because they were almost home (or back at Aglain’s house where they were staying, anyway), but Merlin stopped short, eyes fixed on the van, on the vampires already collapsing into dust under the light of the street lamps.

“Merlin, come on!” Freya had hissed. She darted back and tried to pull him after her, and Gaius had joined her, because the hunters wouldn’t care whether they were part of the riots or not, they were vampires and that was proof enough that they were guilty. Everyone was streaming out of the street, down alleyways and into people’s gardens to hide, except for Will, still standing on his car, too wrapped up in his tirade to notice the scream of a vampire being doused in holy water, let alone the crossbow being aimed at his back.

“Merlin, don’t you _dare_ ,” said Gaius firmly, “you don’t even know him, you –”

It was too late. Merlin was already off, sprinting towards the car, leaping up and tackling Will to the road just as the bolt whipped past. Freya rushed after them, Gaius just behind. They were lying in a tangled heap on the road, Will still shouting.

He shouted all the way to Aglain’s, all the time Merlin and Freya dragged him away from the hunters, an incoherent mess of protests. He even found another half a brick somewhere and got Merlin around the head with it.

“Wankers!” he snarled as they shut and locked Aglain’s front door behind them. Gaius rushed away to join Aglain in the kitchen. “What did you do that for?”

“There were hunters!” Merlin shouted back. “D’you want to get staked?”

“I’d be a martyr for the cause!” said Will, arms flailing madly.

“No, you’d be dust,” said Merlin. “And why’d you hit me with a brick?” He staggered a little, dizzy.

Gaius rushed back with Aglain and the medical kit, and they’d set about bandaging Merlin up while Freya tried to calm Will down.

“I know the system’s broken,” she said, soothing, “but it’s really not safe out there now. They’re sending hunters, they’re specialists, they have Holy Water and everything –”

“Fuck Holy Water,” said Will. “I can take it, I’m not even fucking _Christian_. They have no right to do this! I don’t feed! I have principals!”

“Yes, so do I,” said Freya. “Please stop flailing like that, you’re going to break something. Aglain’s been very nice letting us stay here.”

“Fuck Aglain!” Will shouted. “Fuck you all!”

By the time the sun came up, they’d been tucked away down in the cellar, the house all shut up as if empty, because the neighbours knew there were vampires living there, so it wasn’t safe.

“Fuck you all,” said Will.

“Please watch your language,” said Aglain. He passed Will the scotch he’d dug out from some secret cupboard somewhere. “Drink up. You look like you need it.”

Will drank up, then turned to Merlin. “Is your name seriously Merlin?”

“Yeah,” said Merlin. He was clutching one of the bottles of blood they’d taken from Aglain’s fridge.

“Cool,” said Will. “Sorry about hitting you with a brick, mate, that was rude.”

“It’s fine,” said Merlin.

They’d shaken hands, and that had been that, Freya realised later.

 

–

 

It would not be fair to say that nothing much happened after that. Because, well, the nineties had happened. Merlin dropped in and out of relationships with other vampires, most of whom struck Freya as frightfully dull, and neglected to move out of his house. Will got drunk and into fights. They heard more and more of Uther Pendragon’s anti-supernatural campaign. The program was renamed and remodelled into the SPRV-doubleW, but everyone kept on calling it the program. The Spice Girls were big for a while. There came a new millennium, and everyone got very introspective for a month or so. Freya had never thought that she’d be around in the twenty-first century, back when she was alive.

And all the while Elena kept coming and going, vanishing for months at a time then reappearing with stories from Moscow or Istanbul or Peru and usually another new boyfriend. Around 1997, she announced she was going on a city break to Spain for the weekend, and Freya never saw her again.

Or, well, she did. But for the longest time she thought she wouldn’t, because Elena’s weekend away dragged on for a good eight years, until Freya started to wonder if she might have been caught by hunters, and was ashamed that the she was a little relieved at the thought, because the alternative was that Elena had just up and left without even saying goodbye properly. Which was silly, because they hadn’t even been that close, except Freya had got Elena through her withdrawal and comforted her after Owain had got turned, and been there for her through her string of boyfriends, and she’d liked to think that they’d had a connection.

“I mean, it’s so silly,” she’d said one night in 2004. “I mean, she’s straight, and she’s not even around any more, but I still miss her. Is that silly?”

Morgause peered up at her from around Freya’s rucked-up skirt, and said, “You know, talking about the girl you’re pining for while I’m eating you out really isn’t a turn-on.”

“I wasn’t pining!” said Freya. “And. Right. Sorry.” Morgause’s tongue rasped over her clit, lapped at the inside of her thigh, and then she bit down, hard, savage, by way of revenge, perhaps.

Freya gasped, writhed at the hot, slick sound of it, the feel of the blood dripping down her legs, and then it was over, it was done.

Afterwards, Morgause put her sheer tights back on in silence while Freya sat, coiled like a half-naked spring amidst the bedsheets, and prattled on. She couldn’t help it. “I really am sorry,” she said. “I can’t stop thinking about her is all. Not that I was thinking about her! You’re lovely too.”

“Thanks,” said Morgause, tone dry. She zipped up her boots.

Morgause was still feeding. Freya could tell just from the scent of her. She’d fed, perhaps just a few hours ago, and Freya had known that, and she’d done it anyway.  
“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Freya. “Just. I don’t know.”

“This is what happens when you don’t get proper food.” Morgause stood up, bare back glinting in the light from the streetlamps outside. She slid her top back on, and turned to face Freya. “You want my advice, love? We’re vampires. We don’t just sit around waiting for shit to come to us. We _take_.”

 

–

 

Morgause had been… sort of half-right, in the end.

Freya often thought vampires were a little like dogs, although she tended to keep that thought to herself. Dogs sniffing at lampposts to see who’d peed there lately. Elena’s scent was all over the inside of the twenty-four-hour supermarket a few streets away from Freya’s house.

Not that Elena had peed in the supermarket. That would have been disgusting. She’d just walked around a bit and rifled through the microwave meals, then bought dog food and left. Recently, too, the smell was only a few hours old. Freya stood in the pet food aisle and breathed it in, then stopped doing that because she was getting funny looks for sniffing the dog biscuits, paid for her shopping, and left.

She followed Elena’s meandering scent-trail all the way up the street. It went on for ages, up through the posh bit of town, then down a hill and back into a more vampire-friendly area, and why Elena had come all this way to buy dog food Freya just couldn’t imagine, she’d passed at least three shops that must be closer.

Finally, she came to a halt outside a grey little house with a bent wire fence and blinds pulled down firmly over the downstairs windows. She stood on the curb for a while, on the edge of the pool of light from the streetlamp, wondering whether or not to ring the bell. Elena had obviously been living here for a while now, and she hadn’t tried to contact Freya at all, so maybe she didn’t want to see her, but she could hardly just walk away now. Aside from anything else, it was getting late, it wasn’t that long until sunrise, so if she stood around outside Elena’s front door for much longer she wouldn’t have time to get home.

She tip-toed up the path to the doorstep, peered at the cracks of light around the edges of the blinds, then took one last step forward and rang the bell.

A dog started barking, and then there were footsteps clattering about inside, and Elena’s voice said, ‘down, girl’ sharply, and then the front door opened.

Elena stood framed in the doorway, hair blond and unruly, and blinked at at Freya. Freya blinked back, twisting the handle of her Tesco’s bag in her hands.

“Oh,” said Elena eventually. “It’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me,” said Freya. “Um. I heard you were back in town, and I thought I’d, um, came say hello.” They’d exchanged all of two sentences and already it was getting awkward. “So, how have you been?”

“I’ve been well,” said Elena. “I went. To Spain.”

“Yes,” said Freya. “I noticed. For eight years.” She’d almost forgotten what Elena looked like – she remembered her hair being even madder, but perhaps she’d just found a hair product that worked, and she was in her pyjamas, and had her breasts always been so spectacular?

“Well, I wasn’t _just_ in Spain,” said Elena. “I went to lots of places. Ever been to Dubai? It’s quite fancy.”

“You said you were going away for the weekend,” said Freya, “eight years ago.”  
Elena blinked again, looking rather at a loss for words. “Would you like to come in?” she said. “I was just about to have dinner. I have deer blood. It’s very nice.”

“I do like deer blood,” said Freya.

She found herself sitting at Elena’s kitchen table, drinking deer blood out of a mug that had come with the flat, listening to Elena regale her with tales of her time abroad, as if it were just another holiday rather than an _eight fucking year_ disappearing act, and making approving and/or sympathetic noises in the right places.

“And then in Florence I met this girl Caelia,” said Elena. “You’d have liked her. She reminded me a lot of you, you know?” She ground to a halt and cleared her throat. “So, what have you been doing?”

Freya opened her mouth, then realised she couldn’t think of anything, which was ridiculous because it’d been eight years and she’d done a lot of stuff. She just couldn’t remember any of it.

“Oh, just the usual,” she said. “I lost my job. But then I found another one. In a clothes shop.” She toyed with her mug. It was pink with a bright, smiling flower on it. “Um, when you didn’t come back, I thought you might have been killed by hunters or something.” She tried to laugh. Elena laughed with her.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I just had some stuff to work out. On my own. That’s all.”  
Freya considered this, and finished off her blood. “I should probably go home.”

“Oh, don’t do that!” said Elena. “It’ll be light soon, you won’t get home in time. You can stay in my spare room! Well, it’s a box room. But there’s a futon in it! And also boxes.” She paused. “One is full of plates.”

“Um. That’s nice,” said Freya.

She spent most of the rest of the day curled up on Elena’s futon, pretending she was asleep, and trying to ignore the sounds of Elena moving around in her bed next door. She must have dropped off eventually, though, because she was woken up just after lunchtime by Elena sitting down on the end of the futon and shaking her awake.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi,” said Freya, rubbing at her eyes and blinking. There was a chink of sunlight creeping in between the boxes stacked up against the tiny window.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” said Elena. “I just. I don’t think I was properly honest with you before. I mean, I was. I stayed away all that time because I wanted to work some stuff out, I just – well, you know?”

“Not really, no,” said Freya.

“I was going to stay in Florence, with Caelia,” said Elena. “But then I didn’t.”

“Oh,” said Freya. “Why not?”

Elena toyed with her hands, then said, suddenly cheerful, “So, I think I’m a lesbian now. I thought you should know.”

“That’s nice,” said Freya. She wasn’t sure what else to say. “You’ve, um, had quite a lot of boyfriends for a lesbian.”

“Oh, that,” said Elena, awkward again. “That was just a phase, I suppose. I mean, I was confused. I think.”

Freya sat up and adjusted her skirt, gathered it around herself. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” _Not to me_. “I understand. I mean, I thought I was straight once too. I mean, not for very long. But I did.”

“Oh, really?” said Elena, breathless. “I can’t imagine you being straight. You’d be wasted on a man.”

“I was engaged once.” Freya winced. She hadn’t meant to say that, not really, but it had just seemed like a good time to share something private.

“Oh? What happened?” said Elena.

Freya wondered how best to answer that. “It just… didn’t work out. And then I was a vampire.”

“Yes, I can see how that would make things difficult,” said Elena with great gravity, then, “listen, I’m sorry for vanishing like that. I didn’t mean to, I really was planning to only go away for a couple of days, but stuff kept coming up.”

“It’s alright,” said Freya.

“No, it’s not,” said Elena, morose. “I really am sorry. But I have a dog now, so it’s not like I can just rush off again, you know?”

 

–

 

A month of so after that, Elena had gone to Prague for two weeks, and left Freya a hurried phone message asking her to feed the dog for a while, which Freya did, because, well, she was Freya, and she’d probably have agreed even if the dog were black shuck and a portent of death or something.

But other than the odd abrupt trip abroad, Elena mostly stayed, and got a job, and they met up once or twice a week to chat, like they were just regular friends and not two lesbians harbouring secret crushes on each other that neither dared to acknowledge. The other neighbourhood vampires welcomed Elena back as if she’d never been away, and then she was just another regular at the Coffin.

Just after Christmas 2010, two similar things happened in quick succession.

Firstly, Elena moved house, in a move that rather confounded Freya at the time, because her new flat was smaller and uglier and also her roommate was a bogle, and Merlin finally got around to moving out of Gaius’s.

He walked into the Coffin one evening as normal and sat down in their normal booth.

“Evening,” he said.

“Alright,” said Will. “Hey, lend me a tenner, will you? I don’t get paid till Friday and I’m all out.”

Merlin, ever obliging, groped in his pockets, then froze, a look of horror spreading over his face. A moment later, he drew out his hand, clutching something green-ish and wriggling. He set his handful down on the table and stared.

The frog, completely unfazed by its unexpectedly and undoubtedly cramped journey, croaked. Merlin continued to stare, madness rising in his eyes.

“Why’ve you got a frog, mate?” said Will.

“Gaius,” said Merlin. “Is making. Super-frogs.”

“Don’t look very super to me,” said Will.

“It’s not,” said Merlin. “It’s just. A frog. In my pocket. And yesterday there were two in my bed. And. Frogs. Everywhere.” He took his head in his hands. Freya patted his shoulder sympathetically. “I’m moving out,” he said, voice muffled. “I can’t take this any more. I hate frogs. I didn’t know it was possible to hate frogs this much. I just. _Frogs_ , Freya.”

“I know,” she said, soothing, “frogs are evil. Are you going to start looking for a new flat, then?”

Will snorted. “Ten pounds says he doesn’t do it.”

“I mean it this time!” Merlin cried. “It won’t be like the other times! I swear! This time I’m really going to do it!”

The frog hopped off the table and lolloped off across the bar. Freya watched it go, biting her lip, then winced as a hand closed around it and it vanished into the shadowy recesses of the goblins’ booth. _Crunch_.

 

–

 

Will lost his bet – not that it really mattered, since no-one had actually agreed to bet against him – and by April Merlin was moving out of the house he and Gaius had been sharing practically as long as Freya could remember, and into a flat. With a werewolf. Then a few days later Elena called her in the middle of the day in tears because the bogle had eaten her dog, so all in all it was an odd week.

 

–

 

Freya remembered Merlin.

She remembered how one time in the nineties they’d been in a strange sort of cocktail bar that Elena had dragged them all to, and Merlin had gone away to use the bathroom and been gone for ages and then come back looking dazed and dishevelled. He’d sat down, and mumbled a greeting, and Elena had sniffed him and said,

“Oh my _god_ , did you make out with a werewolf _again_?”

“No!” Merlin snapped hurriedly. “I just. Brushed against one. A little.”

“With your _whole body_?” Elena took hold of a handful of his shirt and sniffed again, then let him go, disgusted.

“Yes,” had said. “Yes, that is what happened. I’m. Going home now. I need to, um, shower.” Then he’d left without another word, and they’d all laughed, because _oh, Merlin_. Honestly, it really wasn’t a surprise that Arthur hadn’t come as… well, a surprise.

Oh, Merlin.

Freya remembered one evening in 1948. It had been dusk, and she’d just left the rooms she’d been renting when she’d heard a noise coming from down a dark alley, and she’d gone to see what it was, because there really weren’t that many things that could be lurking in a dark alley that were scarier than her.

And there was Merlin, slumped against the red brick of the wall, hunched over, blood spread down the front of his shirt, crying to himself, and he might just have been the most pathetic, dejected thing Freya had ever set her eyes on.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you alright?”

Merlin sobbed again, hiccupped, and said, “Go away, please.” Freya took a few steps towards him. “I mean it. Don’t come any closer. I’m dangerous, I –”

Freya stopped in front of him and tilted up his chin to look at her. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “You’re a mess, look.” She got out her handkerchief and began to wipe at his face. “How long has it been?”

“What?” said Merlin, utterly confused.

“How long has it been since you were turned?”

“Oh. I don’t know. A month? Two?” He sniffed, and looked about to break down again. “How did you –” He broke off, and looked her up and down, new vampire instincts finally kicking in. “Oh. _Oh._ You’re –” He tried to back away, flattening himself against the wall, and Freya took him by the hand.

“Come on,” she said. “I live just around the corner, I’ll get you cleaned up.”

He let her lead him back down the street, through the door and down the stairs into the damp cellar rooms where she lived, let her strip off his shirt and dress him in her nightshirt because it was the only thing she had that would fit him, then sat at her table, pliant and obedient, while she did her best to scrub the bloodstains out of his clothes at the sink.

“Why are you doing this?” he sniffed at her shirt. “I’m not worth it.”

“You’ve been feeding,” she said. “Have you killed?” He nodded. “Alright, then.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I mean. I was so hungry, and – I thought that’s just what they do, you know? Vampires. What we do, I mean. But it was just – _horrible_.” She left his shirt to soak and sat back down. “I think I’m really bad at this.”

“Don’t worry,” said Freya. “Being bad at being a vampire is probably a good thing.” She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “Do you have a family?” He nodded. “You should go home.”

He shook his head frantically. “I can’t,” he said. “I mean, I _can’t_. Not after what I did, I just – I’m a monster.”

“So am I,” said Freya. “Would you like some tea? I can make you some tea.”

“Do vampires drink tea?” said Merlin.

“Yes, vampires drink tea.” Freya smiled.

“Oh. Then yes, I’ll have some tea, thank you.”

She made him some tea, and fetched out a tin of biscuits that the last occupant of the rooms had left at the back of the cupboard but which still tasted fine, and that seemed to open the floodgates. Merlin cried again, and rambled at her through a mouthful of biscuit about the people he’d killed and the people he hadn’t been able to kill, and the hunter who’d almost staked him, and how he’d come to be so covered in blood.

“I stopped,” he said, the biscuits all gone, hands wrapped around his mug, warming. “I just – I couldn’t finish it, and I tried to tell her I was sorry, but she just screamed and ran off, and that’s when it hit me. That I’m a monster now.” He paused and stared down at his tea. “This tastes weird.”

“Your sense of taste changes rather,” said Freya. “When you turn.”

“Oh,” said Merlin. “I didn’t know.”

Freya finished her tea, stood up, and began to inspect the bruises on his face. She’d not noticed them at first, he’d been so utterly filthy until she’d made him wash his face. He twitched again, so she said, “Stop that, I was a nurse.”

“Was?” said Merlin, holding still.

“When I was human,” said Freya. “You’ll be fine. And you really should go home. She’s your mother, I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

Merlin nodded, then slumped to the side, leaning on Freya where she stood next to him, eyes falling closed. “There, there,” said Freya, petting his hair.

He spent the day asleep on her floor while his shirt dried above the stove, and then the next evening she walked him all the way back to his house and waited out of sight till he’d knocked on the door.

She honestly didn’t expect to see him again after that, but then he’d arrived on her doorstep a week or two later, looking all earnest and clutching a tin of biscuits.

“Hello,” he said, holding out the tin. “I brought you these. My mum baked them. I thought, since I ate all yours.”

“Oh,” said Freya. “That’s kind of you. They weren’t really my biscuits, though.”

“Have them anyway,” he said, pressing them into her hands. Then, “I’m Merlin.” A pause. “I just realised I never told you my name. So I’m Merlin.” He grinned, sheepish.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Freya.”

“That’s a lovely name,” said Merlin. Freya’s heart sank a little. “So. Freya. Would you like to maybe go to the pictures with me some time?”

Freya adjusted her grip on the biscuit tin. “No, thank you,” she said. Merlin’s shoulders sagged. “It’s nothing personal. I just don’t do that. Or, well, I do. But not with men.”

“Oh,” said Merlin. “Oh! _Oh_. I get it.” He frowned. “No, actually, I don’t get it.” Freya explained. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, eyes very wide. He considered this, then said, “We could go to the pictures anyway. Just as friends. If you like.”

And that, Freya supposed, had been that.

 

–

 

After Merlin moved out, Arthur had abruptly come into all their lives. Grumpy, obnoxious Arthur the werewolf, who kept his flat in such a state of disarray that it made Freya a little twitchy, and who Merlin saw fit to remind them was a _total_ prat on a daily basis. By the time Merlin’s epic feud came to an end, they all hated Arthur as much as he did, or at least hated hearing about him all the time, so helping him get some revenge was actually quite satisfying. Not that Freya would admit it.

“Poor Poppy,” said Elena with a sigh as they packed up her doggie toys into a cardboard box. She fingered a battered chew toy and suppressed a sob. “This one was her favourite…”

Merlin came back through from the living room, arms full of dog basket, and said, “Hey, what’s that weird stain on the carpet in the front room?”

Elena sobbed again. “Poppy!” she said.

“What?” said Merlin.

Freya shushed him. “Poppy,” she hissed, draping an arm around Elena’s shoulders. “The stain is _Poppy_.” Merlin still looked confused. “And Poppy was _the dog_.”

“Ohh!” said Merlin. “That would explain why it smells of dead dog.” Elena sobbed yet again. Freya shushed him. Will punched him on the arm.

“Shut up, you insensitive twat!” he snapped. Merlin stared at him, then turned to Elena.

“So, um, thanks for your help!”

Elena brightened up. “Oh, it’s fine,” she said. “I’m just glad to see this stuff getting some use!” There was a growling from the next room. “Quiet, Duncan, I have company!” Elena hollered.

 

–

 

The plan went spectacularly wrong, but you already know that.

 

–

 

Freya and Elena had started having girly movie nights a year or so after Elena had come back from her eight-year weekend abroad. They did tend to end up very snuggly, but Freya figured that was probably normal for girly movie nights, because Elena had initiated it the first time and she was the expert.

Tonight, it was _Dirty Dancing_ , and Freya was playing with Elena’s hair, because it was fuzzy and fun to play with.

“We should watch more lesbian films,” said Elena after a while. “This film is so heterosexual.”

“I don’t think I know any lesbian films,” said Freya.

“Well, we should find some, and watch them,” said Elena. “What do you think? They have the internet now, we can just google ‘lesbian films’ and I’m sure we’d find plenty.”

“I think that would mostly find porn,” said Freya.

“Ugh, _men_.” Elena settled down against Freya’s shoulder.

“My best friends are men,” Freya countered.

“I thought I was your best friend?” said Elena. She sounded as if she was only half teasing.

“Well,” said Freya. “I’ve known Merlin since he was turned, and Will since – well, you know Will. You’re my best friend who’s a girl!”

“Your best girlfriend, you mean?” Elena laughed. “I like that! Ooh, I have ice cream, you want some ice cream?”

Freya’s brain was still stuck on ‘girlfriend’, so it took her a moment to answer. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Definitely.”

While Elena was out the room, her phone rang, vibrating its way across the coffee table.

“Hello?” she said.

“Am I a horrible person?” said Merlin’s voice, appalled and wavering.

Freya sighed, and rubbed a hand over her eyes. It was girly movie night, Merlin shouldn’t be calling her on girly movie night. “Well, no,” she said. “Though I guess that comes with the vampire territory a little, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to,” said Merlin. “I bet Arthur thinks it does now, though.” He groaned, breath buzzing against the handset.

“Don’t be like that.” Freya settled back against the sofa, because really, the chances of her ending this phone call without resolving whatever issue Merlin had this time were quite low. “Does it really matter what he thinks?”

“He has all my stuff,” said Merlin. “And, I don’t know. I care what he thinks, I guess.”

Freya considered this, and oh bollocks, Merlin was head over heels for a werewolf. How absurd. “You did get all vengeful when he said you were creepy,” she said, hesitant. “We should never have encouraged you.” It wasn’t just absurd, it was almost obscene. Oh, _Merlin_.

“I have to go see him, don’t I?” said Merlin. In the kitchen, the freezer door closed, and Elena began to make her way back through, humming to herself.

“Yes,” said Freya, then hung up hurriedly, because Elena would never forgive her for making a phone call on girly movie night, because it was their _thing_. They had a thing now.

“Who were you talking to just now?” said Elena, setting the ice cream down on the coffee table.

“Oh, myself,” said Freya. “I do that sometimes.”

“I thought it might have been Duncan,” said Elena. “He hides under the sofa sometimes, you know, it can take a while to notice he’s there.”

“Yes, that would probably have made more sense,” said Freya, reaching for her ice cream.

“Do you want some blood with that?” said Elena. “It makes it go all melty, it’s nice.”

“No, thank you,” said Freya, snuggling up to Elena again and un-pausing the video.

 

–

 

Merlin moved back in with Arthur almost as suddenly as he’d moved out, and Will lost a tenner to Owain, because someone had been around to take his bet this time.

“I think I’ve been a total prick to him, you know?” said Merlin one evening in the Coffin. “Not that he’s not a prick. Because he is. But, I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I think you should shut up and stop talking about Arthur,” said Will. “He’s a prick. We get it. Can we talk about the footie now?”

Merlin glared at him and turned to Freya. “We had a really good talk, though,” he said. “And he’s still angry with me, but I think we might be able to work things out so we won’t be –”

“Merlin, I agree with Will,” said Freya. “Please be quiet. I’d rather talk about the footie too, and that’s saying something.”

Merlin looked from one to the other, then at Elena, who nodded. “Well, _fine_ ,” he snapped. “I have to go now anyway, I promised Gaius I’d make him lasagne.” He finished his beer, grabbed his jacket, and stormed off in an approximation of a huff.

“ _Honestly_ ,” said Elena. “Those two!”

“I know!” said Freya. “I mean, ew and all, but they really should just get it together.”

“I _know_!” said Will, slamming his hands down on the table. “Don’t you just _hate_ it when two people are _obviously_ into each other but they just keep being all awkward and making googly eyes at each other for fucking _years_ and never doing anything about it when they _obviously_ just want to shag, and then you just want to smush them together like fucking barbie and action man and make them get over themselves and make out already.” He paused. “And take pictures. And post them on Facebook.” He chuckled to himself, then said, “Right, well, I’m off to join Owain and Pell, they’ve got a great view of the TV over there and the match is on.” He ambled away, leaving Freya and Elena sitting in silence.

“What was _that_ all about?” said Freya.

“I have _no_ idea,” said Elena. They laughed a little, then Elena said,

“You know, I think I’ll go watch the footie too,” and Freya said,

“I should probably go, it’s a bit late and I have to work tomorrow night,” and then they went their separate ways.

 

–

 

Merlin got turned into a human and shagged Arthur.

Seriously. It was one of those things that could really only happen to Merlin. No one else’s life was that absurd. He got outrageously drunk and wallowed in misery, and came up with the most abominably stupid plan, and somehow ended up inadvertently and indirectly playing matchmaker.

“I feel a bit sick just thinking about it, you know?” said Elena at their next girly movie night (or it was meant to be a movie night, but they hadn’t actually got round to putting the movie on). “I mean. Vampires and werewolves are _not_ meant to mix.”

“They were both human when they shagged,” said Freya.

“That’s not the point!” said Elena. “It’s just – _ew_. I should have known he had a fetish or something, it’s so like him.” She stood up from the sofa, and said, “I need a drink. I’m pretty sure I have rum. Rum and coke?”

“Rum and coke is fine,” said Freya, who didn’t drink often, for good reason.

“You have such lovely hair,” she said a few hours later, running her fingers through Elena’s hair. “Don’t ever change it. I want to marry it.”

“You want to marry my hair?” said Elena. “Weirdo.”

“No, _Merlin’s_ the weirdo, remember? He shagged a werewolf,” said Freya, and they both laughed, because they were full of enough rum and coke for that to be more funny than gross. She tangled her fingers deeper in Elena’s hair, and then somehow she was straddling her lap.

“I’m a little glad they finally got it together, though,” said Elena. “Maybe Merlin will finally shut up about Arthur now.” (He didn’t.)

“Maybe,” said Freya. “You have a really cute nose.”

“Yours is cuter,” said Elena. “Your nose.” Freya dipped her head and rubbed her nose against Elena’s, eskimo-style, then dipped a little lower and kissed her on her pink, rum-soaked mouth.

It had such a feeling of inevitability to it, Freya thought later. She drew back after only a second or two, once she realised what she was doing, but Elena followed her, bottom lip caught between Freya’s, and they were already nicely positioned for kissing, Freya in Elena’s lap, hands in her hair, so letting girly movie night turn into girly make-out session was so easy.

Elena kissed the same way she did everything else, switching from moaning and sliding her tongue deep into Freya’s mouth, all passion and hands everywhere, to coming over all giggly, and then back again just as quickly.

Her bra had flowers on it, and it was cut low, dipping down between her breasts, and they were probably getting out of girly movie night territory now that shirts were coming off, but Freya had her hand down Elena’s bra, and she was soft and cool and lovely.

Elena shoved her down on her back on the sofa, half-naked, breasts pressing together, and was about to kiss her again when there was a growl, and then a snorting laugh from somewhere below them that shook the sofa.

Elena sat back on her heels with a cry of outrage, grabbed a cushion to cover her breasts, then leaned down and shouted, “Duncan, what have I told you about hiding down there?”

“Dykes!” came the succinctly caustic response. Elena snarled and flung the TV remote at him, then dragged Freya to her feet and out into the hall, still wearing nothing but her skirt.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just Duncan. He’s awful sometimes.”

Freya shifted, a little awkward, but then again it had taken them well over twenty years to get around to this, so she wasn’t going to let a bogle under the sofa ruin it.  
“It’s fine,” she said. “So, where were we?”

Elena was a force to be reckoned with, all busty and magnificent, grinding slick against Freya’s thigh.

“We should have done this years ago.” She paused, rutting. “Should have done this – back in the eighties.”

“You were _straight_ in the eighties,” said Freya, and when Elena just threw back her head and moaned, unruly curls spilling down her neck, Freya tutted and took her by the wrist and pushed Elena’s hand down between her thighs, where she was hot and frustrated.

“Oh yes,” said Elena, fingers sliding along Freya, searching out the heart of her. “That.” Then she came, fingers pressing a little too hard, squeezing Freya’s leg tight between her thighs, crying out.

Once she had composed herself, she kept on exploring Freya lazily, finding the spots that made her not-quite-breath catch, made her moan, with a precision that left Freya certain Elena had been _very_ busy since coming out.

“Oh – yes, like that,” she choked out as Elena thumbed at her clit. “No – there – _harder_ …” Elena’s fingers danced away, and she smirked against Freya’s neck.

“You’re fun,” she said. “You make such lovely noises, did you know?”

“Please,” said Freya, then, “come _on_ ,” pushing back against Elena’s hand.

Elena laughed, joyful, but she stopped teasing, fingers dipping in and out of Freya firmly as she stroked her thumb across her clit until everything was warm with friction and Freya’s head was spinning, and she came with a jarring jerk, clutching at Elena’s hair, pulling until she yowled like a cat.

“You’re violent,” said Elena.

“Comes with the territory,” said Freya, dreamy, and offered Elena her wrist. “Here.”

Elena’s fingers curled around her arm, feeling the smooth jutting bones, and then her mouth was there, cool and wet and pink, and her fangs, and she _bit_ , just hard enough to break the skin, easing out a few drops. One got free, rolling down her face, scarlet in the light, and Freya stared.

“You have such pretty eyes,” Elena murmured against her wrist.

“I know,” said Freya. “You told me.”

“Did I?” said Elena, eyes fluttering closed.

 

–

 

In retrospect, making out in public while on a night out that was _supposed_ to be taking Merlin’s mind off his romantic woes had not been a good idea.

Scratch that. Even at the time it hadn’t been a good idea, because they had already decided they should wait to tell anyone they were dating, because Merlin was sensitive right now and it would upset him. Or, well, Freya had decided, and Elena had agreed because she was sleepy and giddy with rum and sex, and then she’d been most put out the next morning, but a promise was a promise.

But unfortunately not telling anyone was rather tricky when you were still in the can’t-keep-our-hands-and-lips-off-each-other stage of your relationship, and trickier still when you had many inadvisable cocktails in you and your girlfriend’s ample breasts were _right there_.

“Poor Merlin,” Elena sighed as Freya nuzzled at her cleavage. “The strippers didn’t cheer him up as much as I hoped they would.”

“Mmm,” murmured Freya, continuing to nuzzle. Elena giggled.

“You’re like a kitty,” she said. “ _Honestly_.” Freya mewled, and that made Elena laugh even more. Her mouth was always so soft, perfect for gentle, lazy kisses, and Elena hated that, she got all impatient and forceful, and things were heated before they knew it, Freya tugging at Elena’s hair, pulling it down from the bun she’d forced it into, and Elena hissed and kissed still harder.

Merlin cleared his throat, dowsing them in a sudden wave of awkwardness. They pulled apart, and found him staring. Elena stuttered an apology. She sounded as if she was biting back laughter, and Freya giggled. She was supposed to care about this, but her brain was too addled to remember why. It wasn’t until Merlin was leaving that she remembered – yes, Merlin, romance, woeful.

“No, don’t go,” she said, tearing her eyes away from Elena’s neck. “I just –”

“It’s fine,” said Merlin. “I’ll leave you to it. Have fun. I’m going home.” He turned his back and marched towards the door. Freya called after him, but he ignored her.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Do you think he’s very angry?”

Elena gasped out a laugh. “It’s none of his business anyway,” she said. “Want to go back to mine? Duncan’s gone away for the weekend and I baked shortbread!”

“I don’t really like shortbread,” said Freya absently. She’d pulled out her phone, trying to decide whether to text Merlin or just call him.

“It’s my _special recipe_ ,” said Elena, then, when that didn’t get whatever response she’d been hoping for, she elbowed Freya in the ribs.

“That hurt,” said Freya, deleting her second attempt at composing a text and starting a third.

“Are you texting Merlin?” said Elena. “Don’t bother. It’s his own ridiculous situation, he doesn’t need you nannying him.”

“Yes, he does,” said Freya firmly.

“Well, he _shouldn’t_.” Elena folded her arms. “If we don’t go back to mine soon, you won’t get any of my shortbread.”

“I told you, I don’t like shortbread,” said Freya. She deleted her third attempt as well.

“Well, maybe you should go have _Merlin’s_ shortbread,” said Elena. “Do you want _his_ shortbread?”

“Not particularly,” said Freya. Oh god, what should she say?

“Well, _fine_ ,” Elena said, tone uncomfortably close to a snarl. “I’ll go home by myself. Have fun texting Merlin.” She snatched up her handbag and strutted away, and as she was leaving the pub it dawned on Freya that there might have been more to that exchange that, y’know, _shortbread_.

“Excuse me,” she gasped out, then, “Elena! Wait!” as she rushed out the doors.

“Now what?” said Elena, stopped at a pelican crossing.

“I’m sorry,” said Freya. “It’s just Merlin. He needs looking after sometimes.”

“Well, maybe I need looking after too,” said Elena.

“I’ve been looking after you plenty,” said Freya.

“I can look after myself, _thank_ you!” snapped Elena.

“That doesn’t make any sense, you realise.” Freya realised she was still holding her phone, with half of her fifth text to Merlin on the screen. She deleted it. She’d call him later.

“If you like looking after Merlin so much, maybe you should just make it your full time job,” said Elena. “Maybe he’ll even bake you shortbread.”

“I like my shortbread with more _breasts_ , thanks,” said Freya. “Look, Elena –”

The little green man lit up with a shrill tone, and Elena rushed off across the road before Freya could blink. “I’ll call you!” she shouted, but Elena didn’t pay any attention.

She went back into the pub, ordered another drink, and sat in their empty booth drafting out more texts to Merlin before finally deciding to just call him, except he was engaged, which _had_ to be a sign. She threw down her phone on the table with a frustrated sigh and dragged her hands through her hair.

 

–

 

 

When Freya saw Merlin a few days later at Blood Circle, he was gleeful all over, grinning to himself all through the meeting. They didn’t get a chance to talk properly until things reached the tea-in-polystyrene-cups stage. Merlin huddled up close to her, warming his hands on his tea cup, and said, “Guess what!”

“You had sex?” Freya sipped at her tea.

Merlin sulked. “How’d you know?”

“You’re making your ‘I just got shagged’ face,” said Freya.

“Fine,” Merlin sighed. “Guess who I had sex with!”

“Duncan the Bogle?”

“Ew, no,” said Merlin. “Arthur!”

“I’d never have guessed,” said Freya. She clutched at her tea and wrinkled her nose.

“Don’t give me that look,” said Merlin. “It was awesome!” Freya raised an eyebrow. “Well, mostly awesome. Say, ninety-five percent awesome. And five percent weird as hell. But mostly awesome!” He broke off and rubbed at his hair. “Sorry about snapping at you the other night.”

“It’s fine,” said Freya. “We shouldn’t have been doing that, it was kind of insensitive.”

“I was being stupid and mopey.” Merlin blew on his tea. “How are you guys, anyway?”

Freya opened her mouth, but whatever she’d been going to say slipped her mind almost at once. “We’re… not,” she said. “I don’t know. We’ve not talked.”

“You’ve broken up already?” said Merlin. “Seriously? It’s been less than a week!”  
“Two weeks,” said Freya. “We got together a while ago but we didn’t tell anyone because we didn’t want to upset you.”

“Honestly,” Merlin rolled his eyes. “You two. Get your shit together.”

Freya gaped at him, and she would have said _coming from you?_ , or something along those lines, except Merlin was far too cheerful and full of himself for it to have any real effect, and he _had_ got his shit together quite well, without Freya helping him much at all in the end.

“I should call Elena,” she said.

“Yeah, you should,” said Merlin.

“Or maybe I should go see her,” said Freya.

“That works too,” said Merlin. He wandered away and left her considering this for half a minute or so and then came back with a fistful of biscuits, and biscuits reminded Freya of shortbread, and shortbread now would probably forever remind her of Elena, so she shook her head when he offered her one.

“I’m not in a biscuit mood,” she said.

 

–

 

She bought Elena some shortbread in the end. In a shiny tin. She stood on Elena’s doorstep and held it out as an earnest sort of peace offering, and Elena stood outlined in the doorway and regarded Freya and the shortbread with an odd glint in her eye.

“You know this sort of thing doesn’t actually work, don’t you?” she said. “We have an argument, shortbread is tangentially related, you bring me shortbread, and then magically we’re alright again?”

Freya sagged. “I’m a romantic?” she offered.

“Yes, you are,” said Elena. She took the tin of shortbread and inspected it. “I like romantic.”

“I’m sorry about the other night,” said Freya. “And Merlin and Arthur finally did it.”

“Ew,” said Elena, wrinkling her nose. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I just meant,” said Freya, “you were right. Merlin’s fine and it turns out he didn’t need me looking after him.”

“I like that you look after Merlin.” Elena prised the lid off her shortbread. “It’s like you’re his mum sometimes. It’s sweet. And a little creepy. But mostly sweet.”

Freya thought back to when she was human. “I’d be a terrible mum,” she said, and Elena looked at her over the shortbread as if to say _there’s a story there and I’ll get it out of you later you silly secretive thing you_. Then she took Freya by the hand and dragged her into the house.

“Duncan’s hiding in the airing cupboard, we had an argument because he drank all the milk and filled the cupboard under the sink with dead rats,” she said. “He’ll be there all night. Fancy some shortbread?” She offered Freya the tin, and Freya took some, because really, she could get used to shortbread.


End file.
